


Insatiable

by Flowers_n_Dragons



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Bisexual Disaster Jaskier | Dandelion, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Flirting, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is So Done, M/M, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Tongue-in-cheek, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-27 19:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30127866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowers_n_Dragons/pseuds/Flowers_n_Dragons
Summary: Alternatively titled Bring Your HungerGeralt gives in to the awkward advances of Jaskier. He quickly develops a taste for his.... Taste.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 146
Collections: Geraskier





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All right, yet again I am writing these idiots having sex. With a tongue-in-cheek narrator that I love writing, I hope you appreciate it as well.   
> Edit: now I have a ton of ideas for these lusty boys and with how much you seemed to like it, I am like... Sigh - - ticks multi-chapter box on the posting form....maybe 4 chapters altogether. We'll see if a plot develops or nor 😂
> 
> Alternative title is from The Horror and the Wild from The Amazing Devil. The fic itself had no (conscious) references to their songs *gasp*

It all started when Geralt had enough.

Like many events that had to do with Jaskier had started in the history of their companionship. 

This time, however, things spiraled out of control. 

As they tended to do so when Geralt was involved, one could say. 

So, to start at the beginning, Geralt had enough.

The bard had just plopped down next to him on his bench at the Table in The Most Shadowy Corner(TM) a cloud of his scent enveloping the witcher, made of sandalwood, plums and Arousal, with a capital A. 

Because of fucking course. 

The witcher observed his ale sloshing dangerously as Jaskier sat down, the frothy liquid overflowing and running down the side of the tankard. He licked it up with gusto, a red tongue gathering the rivulet much more dramatically than the situation warranted, his impish, half-lidded gaze boring right into Geralt's. 

The witcher rolled his eyes. 

"What? Can't let it go to waste!" the little shit smirked.

He knew what he was doing. 

They both did. 

So far, Geralt feigned ignorance and opted for non-reactions when it came to the bard's attempts at seduction. It had worked well enough. Suited both of them, it seemed, as Jaskier never actually went further than awkward flirting and fleeting showcasings of his bardic talents outside of music, poetry and dance.

He'd never taken offense for being ignored either, ready to find someone who was more open to his advances. Geralt had not minded that, in turn, although the bard's proclivity to choose a partner who had already been taken had caused him headaches, as he had had to come to his rescue many, many times. 

It didn't mean that Jaskier gave up on his flirting, either. 

Geralt wished that he could say he was as unaffected as he pretended to be. For one, the scent of him tugged at his nerves like nothing else. He had accepted it, yes, but it didn't mean he got used to it. And there were times when it went straight to his cock.

Tonight was one of those times. 

His deliberately lewd dancing previously didn't facilitate matters either. It was spring too, which should not have affected him as much, but with the amorous bard as his companion, not to mention the lack of a bed partner for... Too many a days he was comfortable admitting to, his system was screaming for a good, gratuitous fuck. 

"Just.... Drink, Jaskier." He managed to rasp and took his own advice, gulping down the remains of his own beverage. 

The bard did as told, but not before placing a hot and sweaty hand on Geralt's thigh. 

It slapped on his leg just above the knee, but on the inside. Without any hesitancy or fear. Well, he'd never feared him anyway, the fool, Geralt groaned inwardly. 

Having drunk his fill, Jaskier sighed contentedly, then put down his drink. 

"What a pleasant surprise! For a backwater shithole, their ale is better than decent. And the audience wasn't too bad, either. I loved how they just... ravished me with their eyes. Now what would make the night a perfect one if there was someone inclined to do some ravishing of a different nature...."He trailed off and winked at Geralt, his hand sliding just a little bit upwards.

At that moment, Geralt knew what he should have done. Take that inquisitive hand and move it to the top of the table. Get himself another drink. Banter some with Jaskier. Go to sleep after. There was some tracking to be done tomorrow, anyways. Work for coin, and all that. 

And yet. 

And yet the smell and the touch and the desirous tone of the bard and the season and the years of having to put up with the ceaseless flirting and oh gods, a waft of the man's scent curling up into his nose anew overwhelmed him, prompting him to say, 

"I've had enough. Bed. Now." 

Jaskier gaped at him like a fish, eyes bulging out comically. 

"What did you just say? I think I may have misheard." He almost squeaked. 

"You want ravishing?" 

"Yes, but...." 

"Then we should go to our room. Can't have you bent over the table, now, can I?" 

Jaskier looked to the side, mouth agape slightly, like he was contemplating the last proposal but was on his feet a moment later, muttering to himself "Can't believe that actually worked...", as he strutted towards their room, meandering between the tables and a couple drunk patrons in his way. 

Geralt followed right behind him, his right boldly landing on the peachy curve of Jaskier's bottom. 

"Mmmh, you are really not joking", the bard moaned quietly in response, his pulse noticeably kicking up. 

"Hmmmm", Geralt squeezed him lightly and Jaskier could not wait to get rid of the layers of clothes rudely separating them. 

The room was fortunately close enough. Before Geralt could reconsider, Jaskier practically pounced on him the moment the door clicked shut, crushing his lips against the witcher's, his long fingers tangling into silver locks. 

He tasted even better than he smelled, Geralt whined inwardly and proceeded with the promised ravishing, feasting on his mouth fervently, the pull on his scalp urging him on. 

The nearly full moon shrouded the tiny room in enough light to find one of the narrow and uncomfortable beds with relative ease, Geralt guiding Jaskier who was walking backwards, glued to him, reluctant to let go even for a second now that he had the stunning witcher where he'd always wanted: negative distance from his body. 

His shin contacted with the bed frame; he sat down, an aroused witcher bracketing him right away, thighs around his own and all (all=his hands clasping his head, his hard cock rubbing against his groin, the absolutely disgraceful clothes refusing to disappear on their own, which again, rude) and he was going mindless with lust. His hands quivered with excitement while they worked on their garments, buttons, laces and fastenings and all that bullshit. 

Once gloriously naked, Geralt stopped. He was standing right before Jaskier, the moonlight doing things to his hair and skin that should be illegal in the bard's humble opinion, because they made him irresistible. Looking into his unscrutinable amber eyes, however, made him uneasy. 

"Why did you...?" Jaskier was very much afraid that the witcher was having second thoughts about bedding him. 

"Lie back. Elbows on the bed. Feet on the floor." 

The tone and the gaze of the witcher would not abide any insolence and frankly, Jaskier was way to greedy for a good railing to turn bratty just then. 

Geralt was beyond pleased. His bard was proving to be just as eager and visceral as he'd imagined. His body was stronger than his silks let on, which of course he knew, he wasn't entirely stupid, still, seeing him in his present pre-fuck state with his strong, sexual scent rolling off him, practically marinating Geralt's mind and soul in itself had... a certain effect.

An effect that made him drop to his knees. Jaskier let out a sharp gasp as his thighs were parted by rough, clawing fingers. 

Then Geralt licked up the underside of Jaskier's shaft, finishing with a couple twirls of the tongue on the head. 

Fuck, but he was delicious. 

He moved his right to encircle the base of the dark, veiny shaft to put the head into his hot mouth. He sucked on it gently, then began lapping at it with fervor. 

A drop of precum oozed onto his tongue.

He moaned from the burst of flavors; the sweet plum that was also his scent accompanied the saltiness, and a rich velvety taste he could not compare to any food or drink he had ever had. 

He was instantly addicted. 

He needed more; he wanted his cum, yearning for his incredible taste to coat the lining of his mouth. 

He proceeded to slide down on Jaskier's cock, feeling it press against his throat, then back up, playing with its head with his tongue again, slurping up the heavenly drops that kept spilling out. Jaskier moaned and gasped and hissed incessantly, with breathy "fuck"s and "Geralt"s thrown in for good measure. Geralt worked him enthusiastically with eyelids shut, the sloppy, wet sounds joining Jaskier's best improvised song as of yet, according to the witcher at least. 

"Geralt, stop, stop! I'm gonna.... " he tugged at his locks, trying to pull the man up before he would reach his peak way too fast. Geralt stared straight into his now dark-blue eyes, and popped off his cock only to whisper sternly:

"Then cum, Jaskier. And keep your eyes on me." 

Without further ado, he immediately went back to his task, not minding that his lips were growing numb; he wanted, no, needed to imbibe that nectar. 

"Ah... Ah ah aaaaaaaahhhhnn!" Jaskier's gasps turned into a keen as he gave Geralt what he wanted with their gazes entwined, every muscle tense as he shot his hot seed into him, the witcher making sure there was enough spilling onto his tongue as well. 

He savored every drop, sloshing the load around in his mouth, making Jaskier go wide-eyed. 

"Fuck, you really like it..." 

"Mmmh." Geralt swallowed and surged up to kiss him, giving him a taste of himself. 

It was fucking filthy; needless to say Jaskier loved every moment of it, licking into Geralt's mouth playfully. The kiss turned heated very fast, then ended with Geralt manhandling the bard up the bed, having him sprawled completely under him. 

"Now I'll ravish your sweet little ass, then suck you off till you pass out."

Geralt whispered darkly into his ear, to which Jaskier replied with an eager

"Yes, please!" 

Little did he know what he was in for. 

As it had been stated in the beginning, things spiraled out of control. The witcher, after adequate preparation, he didn't want his bard injured, after all, fucked him hard and fast, as promised, coming inside him before Jaskier could reach his fastly approaching second orgasm.

Then he returned to blowing him with unabated passion. 

That was actually an understatement of the highest order. 

The shutters were already painting stripes on their sweat-slicked skin with the first rays of the sun when Jaskier had slipped out of consciousness, not even for the first but rather, the last time, his abused cock pumping nothing but hot air onto Geralt's tongue, having cum so many times he'd lost count. 

The witcher licked his groin to lap up every remaining drop of semen, before wiping his entire body clean with the (absurdly drenched) sheet, resisting the urge to just use his mouth for that, too. Having cleaned himself as well, he lifted the bard and put him into the other, unsoiled bed, arranging a blanket on top of him, studying his contented visage with a small smile on his lips for long seconds. 

The bed was too narrow for the both of them, so he decided to meditate on the floor instead of sleep. Thinking of Jaskier's sighs and taste, he slowly slipped into blessed unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of the steamy first night culminating in some more sex. It's fucking in-tents. ;)

The consequences of the night's activities were quite varied.

For one, Geralt was, of course, beating himself up about having been too greedy, monstrous, etc. etc. the moment he saw Jaskier limping around the room, looking absolutely wrecked as he put on his clothes with shaky movements. (Nevermind that he was humming a merry little tune with a dreamy countenance, and who would not be, after such a thorough ravishing?)

Jaskier had to take one look at the man's brooding face, however, to see what he was thinking, so with a dramatic roll of his eyes accompanied with disapproving head-shaking, all but shouted :

"Stop it."

"Hmmm?"

"The brooding, darling." He walked up to the witcher, who was sitting on the edge of the non-sticky bed, putting on his boots, and proceeded to take his hand in his while kneeling in front of him. "Geralt, be so kind as to believe me when I say that everything we did was fantastic. You were fantastic. I can't remember getting off this many times and this intensely..." 

"I hurt you." Geralt cut him off, shame tinting his words dark. "You can barely walk. That's not all right, Jaskier."

"Nonsense. I just need a little rest. By this time tomorrow, I will be fit enough to have a repeat of all that we did and more... if you wish to do that too, that is", Jaskier winked and before Geralt could protest or wallow in guilt further, he surged up to kiss him, long and deep, as to underline the words with actions, leaving no doubt about how he viewed the situation. Indeed, Geralt was not the only one insatiable. 

The taste of him flowing into Geralt had him moan into the kiss; morning breath or not, it intoxicated him fast; he grabbed and pulled him onto his lap, not letting his mouth leave his, sucking on his tongue, drinking him greedily. On their own volition, his hands slipped under Jaskier's shirt, exploring the expanse of his back. 

"Fuck...", the bard gasped and pulled away, pupils blown. "I'll take that as a yes... But pray wait until tomorrow. I am spent and quite ruined, for now. In the bestest of ways", he added quickly as he noticed a frown creeping back to Geralt's face. 

"Sorry. You taste.... Too good." Geralt confessed, head bent in defeat, hands now hanging limply by his side; Jaskier was having none of that. He lifted his chin with the pad of his index finger and kissed him again, short and sweet. 

"Don't ever be ashamed of liking the taste of me." His voice turned soft as he caressed the side of the man's lightly stubbled face, their foreheads almost touching. Something feathery warmed and tickled Geralt's chest from the inside at the gesture and he didn't know if he wanted to flee instantly or exist in this moment for eternity. "Or, you know, of being yourself, for that matter." Jaskier continued, his palms finding a resting place on Geralt's chest, and both of their pulses picked up, the air suddenly sweet and viscous with intimacy. "Because you are...." 

"You scoundrels!" Jaskier was interrupted by a seething innkeeper bursting the door open.The bard instinctively hugged Geralt tightly as if he could burrow under his skin for protection. Both of them froze as they were, weathering the lashing out from the petite but energetic woman. 

"Get out of my inn this moment!" She bellowed with a reddening face, her narrow hazel eyes electric with rage. "Don't ever show your faces again! People come here to rest, not to listen to your debauched fornication! I only let you stay this long because I was too tired to barge in when you finally shut your filthy mouths. Now fuck off before I let the other guests have at you! You have five minutes! "

She turned around, her gray skirt an angry stormcloud trailing her steps. 

The door slammed shut.

Well, that was the second consequence. 

The tension evaporated from Jaskier's body. Leaning away from Geralt, he dropped his head back and laughed heartily, a perplexed witcher raising an inquisitive eyebrow at that. 

"Oh, that's a first! Getting kicked out for having way too loud sex with you, I mean. Marvelous. Worth it, though," he added a tad bit quieter, then placed a peck on his cheek. "Let's pack up and go, darling, don't gawk at me like that. I don't doubt she will make good on her promise", he said as he slipped down from Geralt's lap and strode to his bag, very well aware of the amber gaze on him.

He was borderline glad for that shattered moment of softness. Whatever was he doing, he berated himself as he gathered his notebooks and various writing utensils to sink into his bag. Going all cloyingly sweet on Geralt? He seduced him, and against all odds, it worked, somehow, so they fucked, and if Melitele is kind, it would not be the last time either. Well Geralt's brooding had to be curbed, naturally, but maybe he should be going about it in more of a friendly or jesting manner next time, he decided. 

Leaving the inn in time was not a problem in itself, although the short time span prohibited Geralt from putting on his armor, so he had only his black shirt on above his leather trousers. More importantly, now they had to camp on the outskirts of the little town, since the monster terrorizing it was yet to be dispatched by the witcher and that - the camping, not the monster-hunting - made Geralt return to his habitual self-hammering, now on behalf of Jaskier's comfort, so the latter had an opportunity to correct him without being sentimental. 

"Geralt, I am not exactly made of glass. I'll be fine with sleeping outdoors, we do that quite often anyways. Besides, I am the one to blame for this unfortunate turn of events, seeing as I was the one who came in your talented mouth, howling, or has my memory failed me?" he asked, grinning, as they were fleeing the inn, the witcher leading Roach by the bridle. 

"No, your memory is correct." Geralt's tongue tingled at the mention of the bard painting it with thick, creamy spurts of his come. It didn't help that the wind carried Jaskier's scent, which was still resplendent with sex, right into his nose. He bit into his lower lip, eyes cast to the side. "Still I shouldn't have..." 

"Stop that. Do I have to kiss you again so you get it?" The bard stopped and waved his finger at him, threatening, the very notion of it comical with their difference in physical strength, but Jaskier was thoroughly convinced Geralt would not lay a finger on him. Not that way, at least. 

Geralt halted, and let his senses take in all that Jaskier was, from the vivid spring sun playing with his soft tresses (that had been plastered wet on his forehead, sleek and shiny in the moonlight ) to his chapped lips (from having kissed Geralt senseless while being fucked into oblivion), his skin, dusted with soft hair that his fancy doublet and trousers covered well (but had been bared to him, quivering with pleasure and pearly with sweat) his intense and kind gaze (that had bore into Geralt's skull as he'd shuddered through his third (or fourth?) orgasm before going blank).

A waft of sandalwood and plum caressed his brain. 

Aaaand he had fucking enough. Again. 

He needed him on his tongue. That instant. 

"Maybe you should", he suggested, taking Jaskier by his waist with his free hand and crushing him against his chest, eliciting a little yelp from him. 

"Maybe I will, then", Jaskier breathed into the air bubble between their lips with a tone that held a promise of not one but a thousand kisses. 

Oh his voice, yes, Geralt mused. He needed that sweet tenor moaning and gasping, growing dry and raspy gradually with every passing minute of Geralt taking him apart. 

He wasn't given much time for daydreaming (not like he would admit to doing that), Jaskier wound his arms around his neck and kissed him, first playfully, just tiny licks on lips, the tip of his tongue darting into the gap in between almost shyly. To no one's surprise, as he felt his witcher relax against and into him, kissing back like they had not spent the whole night the way they had, the fight-hardened hand on his waist pressing into his flesh just so, Jaskier's brain left the plane of rationality, arriving on the plane of desire. So he kissed Geralt even more fervently, demanding and promising in equal measure. 

Because the third consequence was, of course, that Jaskier craved him even worse than he did before, back when he could only imagine how it would feel to be devoured by the White Wolf. Having had not just a taste but a generous serving of such pleasures, his lust had unbridled, a herd of wild horses coursing through his veins. As impossible as it may have been for anyone else, and contrary to what he had previously told Geralt, he was tingling to get tangled up with him again; feel that hot, pliant mouth working his cock, milking him until he had not a drop more to give his hungry lover. 

He rutted shamelessly against Geralt's thighs, letting him on on his lecherous thoughts. His abused cock whined from the abrasion but didn't soften a smidge.

"Fuck, Jaskier..." Geralt gasped against his jawline before taking half a step back, albeit quite reluctantly, his hand never leaving the brunette's waist. It made a home there, it seemed and Jaskier was happy to welcome the new inhabitant. "Can't believe you already want it again.... let us make camp at least..." 

"Very well. Just make it fast. Then ravish me properly, please?" His legs closed the distance between them on their own. He had zero intention to play nice: his lips found purchase on the tender skin just above the collar of Geralt's shirt, and he sucked on the warm, musky flesh, leaving a quickly fading red mark. 

"Hmmm.... if you don't behave, I'll just breed you in the fucking dirt, right in the middle of the road." Geralt rasped and fuck if that didn't have Jaskier almost go down to hands and knees instantly, decency be damned. 

"Threatening me with a good time?" He managed to lick the words onto slick skin instead, on top of his love bite. 

"Jaskier..." Geralt tried his Growliest Growl that he'd specifically used on the bard to put him in place to coalesce him to behaving. He was really close to snapping, brain trapped in the fog of Jaskier's lustful scent, his naughty ministrations, and oh gods, an elegant hand meandering down his torso to tease his already straining cock with determinate stroking, still over clothes. (The laces and fabric of those trousers were the real heroes in this scene, holding everything inside with all their might.) 

"It doesn't work anymore, darling." To demonstrate his point, Jaskier pressed on his shaft, getting a low whimper in response. 

"Has it ever?" 

"Good point. But you are right, we should make camp first, set up the new tent you bought for us, too", he said with an air of pretend-nonchalantness and pulled away, walking the road as if nothing happened. Geralt's arm felt a little empty, cold air displacing the hot, firm body. He shook his head with a smirk. Fucking menace of a bard, he will be reduced to a spent, shivering mess for this, he vowed to himself. 

Needless to say, they found a well-protected little clearing for a campsite, with a little creek in reasonable distance and had everything set up in record time,including the small tent that fit the two of them just barely, not even tall enough to stand up inside, which could offer a little privacy. Jaskier climbed inside first and sat down at the further end. Without further ado, he clambered out of his trousers and smallclothes with much wiggling on top of their bedrolls. His cock was already achingly full and heavy, dark, dusty pink against his white shirt in the midday light diffused by the off-white tarpaulin.

Partly to tease Geralt, who just followed him inside, gaze fixed on him, but mostly to test how sensitive it really was, he laved two of his fingers with saliva, then slicked his cock with them before treating himself with some light stroking. He winced first, a hiss slithering out from his lips, but the painful, pinprickly sensations soon abated. He fucked into his own fist langorously with thighs open, knees drawn up, his eyes half-lidded so he could observe how he affected his lover.

The witcher gulped audibly, his head bobbing parallel with Jaskier's cock. 

Jaskier was indeed immensely satisfied with the reaction so he continued, adding tiny moans to the slaps of skin on skin. The lacings of Geralt's leathers were undone with incredible haste. The heavy black garment joined the pile of other unnecessary clothes with a dull thud in the corner, quickly forgotten. The witcher had worn nothing below those pants and it was Jaskier's turn to ogle the straining cock that was pointing right at him. Not bothering with his black shirt and medallion, Geralt knee walked right between his legs, somehow managing to look alluring and just a tad bit menacing, sending shivers racing up Jaskier's spine, that fizzled out at the back of his head with a pleasant buzz. His hand left his cock to keep himself upright with straight arms, the abandoned hard shaft crying for attention. When there was no more room to move forward, with a predatory smirk, nothing more, Geralt dove down. 

"Want to taste you." He rasped against his inner thigh, short licks and nips landing on the fine skin, a shiver wavering through its expanse in response. 

"Me too. Turn around and get on top of me, darling, sink that gorgeous cock down my throat."

The wet lips left Jaskier's thigh at that, so he glanced at his lap. He was met with a disbelieving amber glare. 

"Are you sure? Your voice..."

"Want it wrecked, yes. Ruin me, Geralt." Jaskier pleaded with puppy-dog eyes, a langorous sweep of tongue along his lips underscoring the words. 

"How the fuck am I supposed to say no to that? Fucking menace...." Geralt grumbled, but he was already arranging themselves into position, on his hands and knees above the lying Jaskier, his head above the groin of the man, while his own cock was hovering at a very very short distance from that sweet mouth. 

Jaskier wasted no time. He guided the cock between his lips and sucked on its head. With the firm, impossibly round bottom of the witcher right in his face, he did not allow his lids to cover his eyes, otherwise with the overpowering masculine scent in his nostrils (he'd choose it over any flowery perfume thank you very much), coupled with the hard but silk-soft skinned cock in his hands and pressing into his mouth, he would have done just that. 

Then Geralt swallowed his cock, right to the balls, in one sweeping movement and everything went kind of blurry after that. It was hot and wet and steamy and sweaty, squelching noises counterpointed with low grunts and elongated moans. The smell of lust hung in a hot cloud about them, a concoction of sex made of them, their fluids and skin and hair.

The whole act was urgent, animalistic, mindless and uncontrollable, hips thrusting, hands grabbing, stroking, nails digging deep into taut flesh, shirts tugged on and swept out of the way to feel more more more. 

It didn't take long for Jaskier to get overwhelmed; every fiber in him tensed up, and with his spine arching off the ground he exploded into Geralt's mouth, crying against the shaft halfway down his throat, which thrust into him twice more before spraying cum straight into his belly, or at least that's how Jaskier felt. 

Floaty and buzzing with bliss, Jaskier let Geralt lick and suck him clean, having repositioned himself so he was not hovering but kneeling between his legs as previously. The bard was pretty sure his load was not more than a very small spoonful, but there was no complaint from the man, only satisfied little moans and a sentence along the lines of "You are fucking delicious" or maybe it was "a fucking delicacy", he could neither hear nor remember well. 

Geralt didn't fare much better, but he still had a job to do, so he kissed Jaskier one last time, filthy with their seeds mingling as their tongues twirled, then quickly grabbed his trousers and said goodbye to the boneless heap that he had become, telling him to rest. 

"Why, so you can have your way again with me once you are back?" Jaskier quipped with a weak, raspy voice. He won't be singing to any audience in the next couple days, that was certain, but he had not been planning on performing for anyone. Well maybe for Geralt, but that didn't require musical perfection for sure. 

'Hmmm. Just sleep a bit. This area is safe. I'll be back by sunset." 

Geralt left the tent with a wink and Jaskier sighed in defeat. 

Bloody lecherous witchers. The' hmmm' and the wink meant only one thing. 

Come night, he will be, once again, ravished. Thoroughly. 

(And if he wanted to be perfectly honest, he was looking forward to it, even if it meant his untimely death.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to give them a tent, so what? :D. It only makes sense, can't have poor Jaskier sleeping under the stars especially on cold spring nights. 
> 
> And I refuse to let them be overly soft. For now. Believe me, they try very hard. But nope, sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback always welcome, makes me fuzzy on the inside :)


End file.
